Dead Dreams
by RudyRae
Summary: Wanda Wilson finds herself to be having recurring dreams of her and Deadpool's deaths. What do they mean? It's pretty hard to kill Deadpool, but is it not possible? Includes pop culture references, witty banter, and well...things of a Deadpooly nature.
1. Chapter 1 Intruder

Nonchalant, we sauntered the city streets together, disguised as civilians. Imagine my surprise when I heard the cocking of a gun and a copious amount of shots fired. We both fell to the floor, hit. I watched helplessly as our assailant sprinted into the night. I turned to Wade who was seemingly unconscious as my world was spinning. Wade was here, yet he wasn't, leaving me in solitude until my wounds healed. I looked down to check the progress of my injuries and noticed that they were still bleeding profusely. I wasn't healing.

I crawled over to Wade, trying to ignore the pain. I felt like Anakin Skywalker trying to crawl with one arm away from fiery lava. Only I had all my limbs intact and I succeeded at where I was endeavoring to go. I laid my head on Wade's chest as a wave of dizziness overcame me. Wade's heart wasn't beating.

I sat up in bed, panting in a cold sweat. It was just a dream…more like a nightmare. I looked down and ran my hands earnestly over the parts of my body which had been shot. I was ok. I looked over at Wade, and he was ok. We were ok. I breathed a sigh of relief and sank back into bed. Wade stirred. He looked over to see me exasperated and wide awake.

"Since when did you sleep with your eyes open?" He yawned.

I glanced over at him and gave him a half ass smile.

"Don't tell me." Wade's eyes widened. "You peed the bed!"

I laughed.

"Gross. But I'm rich you know. I can buy a custom tempurpedic/sleep number and it'll only cost me a nickel. 'Cause once you have a wet dream, that shit stays there."

I smiled under the kiss that I then promptly placed on Wade's lips. He was so funny and such a bad ass that his somewhat harsh exterior didn't faze me.

"Mm."

I released him from our lip-lock.

"Aw, why'd you stop?" Wade half smirked half pouted.

"We could keep going." I grinned. "But I'm just a little creeped out…"

Wade's facial expression immediately changed from playful begging to somber frustration. "What are you trying to say?"

I quickly realized my mistake. "I…had a dream that I was dying. And you were lying unconscious next to me."

Wade was relieved I meant my nightmare, but tried to hide it. "Aw," He pulled me into an embrace. "Did somebody have a widdle bad dweam? It's ok, daddy's here."

I buried my face in Wade's scarred chest and felt safe. "Thank you Wade, but for future reference, I do NOT have childhood issues with my father. So, I do not need a male partner to call himself my, 'daddy'."

"Duly noted. Did you hear that?"

I hesitated a moment. "What?"

Wade jumped up from bed and grabbed his katanas off their mantle. "Someone's in the house. I'll be right back."

"Wait. I'm going with you." I got up and slid one of Wade's few button up t-shirts on. I felt like Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith in that scene when the spies are closing in on them after they had had sex.

"C'mon Mrs. Smith." Wade whispered impatiently.

"You thought the same thin-"

"Shh!"

"Sorry." I sighed. We crept into the kitchen, keeping a sharp eye for our intruder.


	2. Chapter 2 Como se what?

Wade held his blades at ready as we heard rummaging in the next room. All I could think about was…where in the hell was that damned Dogpool when you needed him? I sighed. Wade looked back at me with an arched eyebrow. I beamed guiltily.

"She doesn't take Prozac, guys." Wade whispered to himself.

I face-palmed, then realized that the rummaging had stopped. I snatched one of Wade's katanas and bolted into the kitchen. Spotting the silhouette of the intruder I raised my blade. "If you're not a little old lady that lives in the neighborhood and are here to borrow some sugar, then you have 10 seconds for a brief montage of your life!"

Wade turned on the kitchen light to reveal our trespasser.

"Neil Patrick Harris?" Wade and I both declared in unison.

N.P.H. stood idly in the midst of our kitchen, eating a slice of leftover pizza from dinner. "Hey, what's up?"

"What's up? I almost killed you, man!" I breathed, relaxing my blade.

"And you're the one who came into HER kitchen!" Wade added.

N.P.H. shrugged as he scarfed down the 'za and tossed the crust into the pizza box from which it came. "One: I'm Neil Patrick Harris. Two: you cannot kill me in spite of number one. And three: I came here to deliver a message."

I exchanged glances with Wade.

"Uh…? From who?"

"You see my friend has a cousin who has a nephew who has a friend who has an uncle who has a step father who works for some 'quote un-quote' Weapon X Program. I didn't know anything about it, but he told his step son to tell his friend to tell his cousin to tell my friend to tell me to tell you that you are both in 'grave danger'."

"…"

"…Como se what?" Wade stared blankly at Neil.

Neil gave a sigh of annoyance and rolled his eyes. "You guys are both literally in 'grave danger'. Grave like six-feet-under-danger. Meaning. You both are in danger of dying. You followin' me here?"

I was paralyzed, I couldn't speak. Was this another dream? I mean, how often does Neil Patrick Harris break into your house at night to warn you that you were going to die? Or that you were in 'danger' of dying?

"How?"

N.P.H. put his hands up in the air. "How should I know? I'm just the messenger boy. Anyway, my work here is done. Lovely house you have here. Wish I could stay and chat."

"Wait. Why aren't you throwing up at the sight of us- I mean, me? Don't tell me you're blind like in that movie 'Beastly' with Vanessa Hudgens?" Wade queried.

"Oh, god no. It's just that I've watched the Human Centipede. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to save the world from nuclear pollution and the third World War." And with that, we watched as N.P.H. walked out the door. Surprisingly, there were no signs of a broken entry. Just some skittles on the floor. He must have had Unicorn-Rainbow-Teleportation powers.

Wade came to my side and placed a gentle hand on my back. I looked down to the floor.

"I bet we can sell that pizza crust Doogie Howser left on eBay for a couple hundred bucks. I thought it was ridiculous that the Weapon X Program guy went through so much trouble just to get N.P.H. to deliver such a small message. 'My friend's cousin's nephew's'…pfft. That was so gratuitous on RudyRae's part."

"Wade," I held up the katana, "cut me."

"What?" Wade's eyes widened. "Maybe she SHOULD be on the Prozac guys…and Ritalin for that A.D.D. she just demonstrated?"

"I want to see how fast I'll heal."

"Wanda, I knew you had kinky fetishes, but this is just-"

"Just shut up and do it already!"

"That's what she said." Wade grinned. I gave him a solemn look before he finally shrugged and took his katana. "Alright, where do you want it?"

"That's what he said. And right here, toots." I held out my palm.

"One laceration comin' right up." And without hesitation, Wade sliced the underside of my hand. I winced a bit from the sudden action without warning. "There. All nice and bloody for you."

I got up and strode to the sink as my cupped hand filled with blood. I ran it under some luke warm water for a couple minutes. It was usually clotted before now. It seemed that while I had my healing factor still, it was starting to become less effective. Shit. I hoped to God that I wasn't donning some form of premonition. I didn't want my previous nightmare to come true. No Sandra Bullock for me, thank you. Yet, my fears consumed me, and it took me a couple moments to realize I had tears streaming down my face.

"I don't know? Would Prozac work? …Vicodin? She's not in that kind of pain, who do you think she is? House? Yeah, that's not a bad idea, I probably should." Wade strode over to me and pulled me into a hug. He grabbed my wrist gently and brought my palm up to his face to kiss it. "There. Wound neutralized."


End file.
